


A Bad Idea

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Q is oblivious to his feelings, Snarky Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is not Q's favourite person. He cannot hold his temper with him and James starts to wonder why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is essentially unbeta'd. I wrote it months ago and never went back to do suggested edits. It's just been sitting there so I've decided to post it. Sorry for any bad writing (it's my first fic) and errors!

The phone on the workstation behind him was ringing again. Alone in his department, Q glanced over at it with irritation. He was working on building a high priority security protocol and needed to focus, yet there had been a persistent caller every few minutes for the last half an hour, refusing to get the message that Jess was not at her desk. Why they didn’t just give up and send an email, he couldn’t figure out. As soon as you opened a new message and typed somebody’s name into the address field it would tell you whether they were at their desk or not. And even whether they were just away in a meeting or had their out of office on. Apparently not everybody had got the message about how to use the upgrade and new IM system. He made a mental note to gently suggest that IT do a better job with training at the earliest opportunity.

It was still ringing. Finally losing his patience, he swung around on his chair, stood and made the short journey over to Jess’s station, picking the phone off the hook and glancing casually at the caller ID. The screen merely listed an extension number for one of the hot desk offices though, giving no indication as to the identity of the persistent caller.  
“TSS. Q speaking,” he said as he answered the call.

Q sighed upon hearing the languidly familiar voice that answered him. “Q? What are you doing answering Jess’s phone? Can you fetch her for me?”

Careful not to sound too overtly disapproving, merely mildly exasperated, Q replied, “007. I might have known. No. I cannot _fetch_ Jess for you. I presume you’re the person who has been repeatedly calling for the past 30 minutes. As may have been indicated by your lack of success in reaching her, she’s not actually here at the moment. Perhaps you could try again after a suitable length of time, or better still, wait until it’s outside working hours to conduct your personal affairs.”

Jess was the latest MI6 employee to succumb to the charms of a bored Double-O agent, back in London between missions and looking for a distraction. In this case, she had become involved with the most notorious of all. James Bond. 007.

“Now, Q.” Bond said coaxingly. “Don’t be like that. You know how it is. I could be called out on a mission at any time so I’ve got to conduct my ‘personal affairs’ while I’ve got the opportunity. I was just calling to find out if Jess was free for dinner tonight, but if she’s not around to ask… why don’t you join me instead?”

Q’s eyes widened. “Me? Bond, what on earth would make you think I’d want to do that?” Q could hear a tone of irritation creeping into his voice, much as he wished to prevent it. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got an entire department to run, and I don’t have time to indulge your penchant for inane conversation over dinner.”

“I’m an excellent conversationalist. You’ve just never given me the opportunity to show you. I particularly enjoy indulging in good conversation _after_ dinner. Plus, you look like you could do with a decent meal, I’d be happy to shout you.”

“I do _not_ ‘need a decent meal’! Just because I choose not to become some muscle-bound hulk, all you agents think I need feeding up. Nor am I interested in your _conversation_ , however good it may be. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work. Jess isn’t here. I do not know when she’s due back but when she is I’ll tell her you were calling. Repeatedly. Until that time, please refrain from disturbing me. Goodbye, 007.”

“Alright. I get the message. Goodbye Q. See you at my next equipment pick-up.”

Q heard the click of Bond ending the call from his end and closed his eyes in regret. He shouldn’t have done that. As Quartermaster he should never allow his personal feelings to enter into his dealings with the agents, whatever the context. But he simply couldn’t approve of Bond’s casual attitude to workplace relationships.

Q had tried to like him, he really did. He’d had great hopes after the Skyfall incident that the assistance he’d provided meant that there would finally be a Double-O that he could work with on friendly terms. But no. Bond had turned out to be just like all the others. Flirting with his research assistants, distracting them. Q had no objections to people entering into relationships with their colleagues, though he knew some other members of the senior team disapproved of such things. However, Bond seemed determined to enter into a relationship with every colleague available in fairly quick succession. And he somehow managed to emerge from them without any hard feelings on either side. He simply moved onto the next conquest and whoever he’d left behind carried on as if nothing happened. Jess had so far lasted a month or so, which was a pretty good run. Bond was obviously still interested - outside his unhealthy instinct to flirt and drop innuendo into any conversation at the slightest opportunity - but the longest anyone had lasted, as far as Q was aware, was two months. Q idly wondered who would come next, before realising what he was doing and hurriedly putting the phone down and walking back to sit at his desk.

This hadn’t been the first time Bond had casually suggested they go out for a meal but Q had no idea of what Bond’s intentions were with such invitations and he wasn’t inclined to find out. Better not to step too close to the flame for danger of getting burned. And besides, he couldn’t spend more than five minutes with the man without losing his temper. A whole evening would most likely end in disaster.

.oOo.

“Alright. I get the message. Goodbye Q. See you at my next equipment pick-up.”

Bond put down the receiver and leaned back in his chair, frustrated yet again at having managed to get on the wrong side of Q without even trying. He _liked_ the man and made the best efforts he could to be friendly but no matter what, he always managed to say or do the wrong thing. He honestly believed if he could just get him alone, somewhere outside work, they’d get on well, maybe more, but Q refused to have anything to do with him. Not only that, he actively seemed to disapprove of Bond which just seemed unnecessary. Bond had never, as far as he knew, done anything to directly earn the Quartermaster’s censure, and he’d enjoyed working with him in the few weeks immediately after they’d met. Q had been invaluable in laying the trap for Silva, but since then their relationship had deteriorated from tentatively friendly to near antagonistic. Bond’s mere presence seemed to get under Q’s skin, causing the levels of sarcasm and snark in the room to treble. In fact, Bond enjoyed their encounters enormously. He never felt quite so challenged as when Q stood up to him, refusing to succumb to the standard methods of flirtation Bond used to get what he wanted.

As realisation struck, Bond smiled to himself, and began to wonder just what the root cause of Q’s problem with him was. Perhaps it was a different sort of frustration altogether, one that Q needed working out of his system. If it was, Bond doubted Q was even aware of it, and it might be fun to see just how Q reacted when pushed a little further. Bond was fairly sure it would be the reaction he expected, although if it wasn’t, at least his training guaranteed that he wouldn’t end up too badly hurt.

Glancing at the clock, Bond realised it was five minutes to the hour. Hopefully whatever meeting Jess was in would finish on the hour and she would return to her desk. There’d be no harm in dropping by Q branch to see if she was around. Bond had no intention of hurting the girl and dropping her for her boss with no prior warning. He’d take her out to dinner, just as he’d intended. Jess would understand that their time together had reached its natural conclusion, everyone in MI6 knew how things worked with the Double-Os. And if Bond happened to bump into Q while downstairs, well, no harm done. He’d simply lay some groundwork and take things from there. After all, Q was a scientist, he’d appreciate an experimental approach. Bond had a hypothesis, he just needed to run some tests and see what conclusion could be drawn.

Pushing back from the desk, Bond stood and reached for his suit jacket. If he left now, he could return the office key he’d borrowed in order to use the phone, stop in the stairwell for a cigarette and be in Q Branch for ten past. Pleased with his plan of action, he left the office, locking the door behind him and just managed to stop himself from whistling as he walked down the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

Q felt incredibly tense at home that evening as he thought back on the events of the day. After the phone call with Bond he’d carried on with his work, only to have the peace disturbed when various team members returned from their meeting, including the elusive Jess. And then 007 himself had appeared not five minutes later. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d noticed Bond arrive, but instead Q had been immersed in the analysis of some particularly troublesome intel that had been doing the rounds of various departments for a week now. Since everybody else had tried and come up with nothing, it had been passed over to Q to see what he made of it. He’d finally begun to pull the threads apart when he’d turned from the Gibson terminal to find an unwelcome Double O agent perched on Jess’s desk, being all charming and blocking Q’s progress back to his workstation.

It really wasn’t fair. If it were anyone else, behaviour of that sort simply wouldn’t be tolerated. Q couldn’t just wander down to Finance and start flirting with the Accountants, even if a couple of them were cute. To make matters worse, Bond had looked up at him just at the exact moment Q realised he’d been staring at Bond. Not good.

As Q had begun walking back towards his own desk, just to the right of Jess’s, Bond had bent down to whisper something in her ear, making her laugh, before standing and walking over to meet Q as he returned to his station. 

Upon reaching Q, he had, to all appearances, begun a conversation about an upgrade to his weapon, but there had been an amused light in his eyes.The bastard had been flirting with Q, in front of the woman he was, as far as Q was aware, taking out to dinner that very evening. Not that Q had noticed the flirting at the time. As very often happened, it was only with hindsight he was able to appreciate the comments Bond had made about working together on upgrades to his gun and holster, as a ‘side project’, truly for the flirtation they actually were. Q cringed as he remembered the comments he had made about the resources of TSS not being at Bond’s personal command and that he had already been issued with a gun that had all the latest modifications, only to have lost it when confronted with a Komodo dragon. To his mind however, Bond had got what he deserved. Q couldn’t tolerate the way Bond flirted with anything and everything that moved in order to achieve his goals. What might work in the field wasn’t at all appropriate for the office, where people didn’t move on to another country the moment a mission was over. Bond had left not long after, confirming his plans for the evening with Jess on his way out, apparently unashamed of his having flirted with her boss right in front of her.

Glancing towards the clock, Q realised with a start that he’d become lost in his thoughts again and it was nearing midnight. He did try to stick to something approximating a regular sleeping pattern if at all possible, particularly on the evenings he was lucky enough to make it home. If he wanted to get to the office for 0700 the next morning, it was time to turn in.

***

_His eyes were closed, arms stretched fully out above his head, held in place by strong hands against his own. He could feel the cold countertop beneath his spine, cooling his heated skin; the edge was digging into his lower back and there was a glorious pressure holding him in place. He lifted his hips, arching his back and pushing up onto his toes, straining forwards to try and find some relief, only to end up with his chest brushing up against the powerful body leaning down above him. The whisper of a mouth across his neck sent a shiver through his entire body, making him gasp for breath. He couldn’t move and it was perfect. He pushed again against the wrists holding him down and the mouth moved upwards, past his jaw, until it reached his own mouth where it hovered, withholding fulfilment. He could feel each gentle breath against his lips. Confused at the lack of contact, he opened his eyes and found himself staring into a familiar, laughter filled blue gaze, steady and close, so close._

***

Q woke with a start and for a moment didn’t remember what he had been dreaming or why he didn’t feel rested at all; quite the opposite in fact. Then an image of bright blue eyes filled his mind.

“Oh, God.”

Lifting his hands to cover his face, Q tried to suppress the images now bubbling to the surface, becoming aware of quite how comfortable his traitorous body was with the suggestion of his unconscious brain. “No, no, no. This can’t happen. I won’t let it.”

Awareness of the room gradually dawned. It was a lot lighter than it should have been for the early hour at this time of year. Looking at the bedside table, Q realised that not only had his mind betrayed him, but so had his body and he had slept through his alarm, leaving only 20 minutes to get up and out of the house. He was going to have to sacrifice both his shower and morning cup of tea. The shower was the lesser problem of the two: the rest of TSS, however, were not going to be pleased when he arrived in the office uncaffeinated.

***

Thankfully, and rather unusually given he was running late and on the edges of the rush hour, Q’s journey on the tube was not beset by problems and he reached the office just in time to dump his coat and bag at his desk before heading to the conference room for his daily team meeting. As he entered the room he targeted the newest recruit and simply said “Coffee, now. Strong, black, two sugars. Make sure it’s Demerera.”

He could hear the more experienced members of TSS muttering amongst themselves at this. Q rarely drank coffee, and even more rarely let somebody else make his drink for him. 

“Alright, as you may have gathered, I’ve not had the ideal start to my morning. So, let’s not waste anytime. This shouldn’t take very long. Let’s begin. Team A, what do you have?”

Q took his active teams through their current mission status one by one, noting down anything that needed further attention, suggesting solutions where possible and gradually beginning to feel more like himself as his caffeine levels finally rose to an acceptable level. As the meeting came to a conclusion, he made sure to exit the room timed perfectly to encounter Jess on the way back to their desks.

“So, how was your dinner last night?” he asked, keeping his tone to an acceptable level of curiosity.

Jess smiled as she answered. “With James? Oh, enjoyable as ever. Unfortunately for me it was the last one. You know how it works. The time has come, and while James has very much enjoyed our time together, he expects to be sent on a mission any day now and wouldn’t want me to feel obliged to wait for him, so we mutually agreed to part ways. Of course, it was more his idea than mine.” 

Jess sat down at her desk and moved to sign in to her terminal, then turned to look at Q. “He was quite curious about you though. Kept asking me all sorts of questions, I hope he’s more subtle than that when coercing targets.”

Q’s mouth went dry. “Really? I can’t imagine why,” he managed to get out, suddenly wanting to end the conversation, suppressed memories of his dream last night threatening to come flooding back. Before he managed to say another word, he was saved by an alert going off at his desk, indicating a communication from M. “I’m sorry, I really should get that…”

Hastening over to his desk, he logged in and read the new email:

_Q,_

_Mission: Orion_

_007 departing for Cartagena at 1600 hours. Please communicate directly with agent to arrange meeting with your team re: issue of equipment. See attached document for details._

_M_

After sending a quick acknowledgement to M, and before he’d really registered his own actions, Q had opened up an email to Bond and told him to meet him on the firing range in two hours to collect his equipment for _Orion_. Almost as soon as he’d hit send, Q realised that Bond was going to know something was up. Q almost never dealt with standard equipment handovers, preferring to let the team that would handle the mission take responsibility from the start. It was fine though, someone needed to show Bond the new modifications to his Walther and Q told himself that it was best he do it to make sure every detail was covered. Nobody wanted a Double O to find themselves out on a mission with equipment whose features they didn’t know how to use. He was simply doing the responsible thing, nothing to do with wanting to see Bond before he left, not at all.

***

Bond had known this mission was incoming. He hadn’t been deceiving Jess about his reasons for ending their liaison when he’d had dinner with her last night; at least, _Orion_ was part of the reason. She didn’t need to know that his attention had also been engaged elsewhere, even more so, by her boss. His policy was to always leave things on amicable terms. Although, he did suspect he may have shown his cards a little. He hadn’t been able to deny himself the opportunity to further his knowledge of the Quartermaster by questioning the member of his team he had at his disposal for an evening. And it had been interesting. It seemed that Q was well-liked by his team, and although he had a reputation for not tolerating fools lightly, he was fair and wanted people to learn from their errors, as long as they didn’t make the same mistake twice.

And now Q had personally summoned him to the firing range to collect his gear for _Orion_. An interesting development in itself, one for which Bond was filled with anticipation. Bond hadn’t seen Q himself in the lead up to a mission since their very first meeting in the National Gallery. Normally he would be equipped by whichever TSS Operations Manager he was going to be working with, as was every other agent.

Although he couldn’t know Q’s reasons for taking the time to meet with him, he hoped that it was a positive sign of interest, and that he wasn’t about to be put firmly in his place. He had a couple of hours, plenty of time to develop a clear plan of attack. His primary aim was to get Q to agree to join him for dinner. It was a point of pride with him now, having been turned down so presumptuously the day before. However, Bond was very clear in his mind. If it became obvious that Q was not interested, he would accept defeat gracefully. He was merely curious; the Quartermaster was an enigma and Bond enjoyed nothing as much as a challenge. 

Perhaps it was time to inject a little temptation into their interactions, testing Q’s reactions to a little physical contact, or suggested contact. After all, Bond knew all the tricks in the book. He could surely turn Q’s attention from work to more pleasurable activities. He sent a quick prayer of thanks to whatever God there was that Q had, unwittingly or not, provided him with such a perfect opportunity to advance his plans.

***

Bond was deliberately ten minutes late when he arrived at the firing range and so was disappointed to discover he was the first to arrive. A quick check of the booking showed that Q had arranged for them to have the entire place to themselves for the next hour, rather than just reserving one of the lanes. Letting himself in, Bond was about to begin some routine practise when the door was flung open and flustered Q came in, carrying a secure box and various multicoloured folders.

“Apologies, 007. Crisis in TSS with some prototype nanobots.” Q waved a hand in the air in a vague fashion, dismissing the entire matter as if it was of no consequence, and looking up at Bond expectantly. “Now, you’re bound for Cartagena. Very well, I brought your new Walther with me. It’s the same model as before but we’ve altered some of the inner mechanisms and the recoil may be slightly different from what you’re accustomed to.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything urgent, Quartermaster.” Bond saw a look of - was that guilt? - pass across Q’s face as he said this. 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t essential.” Q moved past Bond to the head of the central lane and busied himself with getting the Walther out and loaded, avoiding meeting Bond’s eye. “Now, let me just make a few test shots first.”

While Q’s back was turned, Bond moved up silently to watch over the other man’s shoulder as he prepared the weapon before laying it down safely, and looking around for the ear protectors. As his arm reached out, Bond stopped him and stepping closer into Q’s side, he lifted one hand to the small of Q’s back, as he leant over and took hold of the protectors from their hook to the left with the other, “Allow me.”

Through the hand on his back, Bond could feel Q holding himself incredibly still as Bond moved closer behind him. He seemed barely to be breathing. Lifting the protectors, Bond skimmed his right hand lightly up Q’s spine to take hold of the other side of the protectors and moved them into place over Q’s hair and ears, before stepping back to a more acceptable distance, pleased with how things were going so far. Q hadn’t moved away from him, as someone who didn’t welcome his proximity would have done, and Bond felt rather like he had caught a wild animal in his headlights. The slightest wrong move would scare it off, but instead he’d made a successful approach, so he let it go. For now. 

A small cough from Q brought him out of his reverie. “Er… thank you. I’ll just be a moment and then you can have a try yourself.”

Bond turned to get some ear protectors for himself, and then when he once again looked at Q, who was about to take his first shot, he couldn’t help but smile. Looking at the man’s stance as, he’d just been granted the perfect opportunity to progress the physical aspect of his experiment . Although, Q had good posture, the man looked positively afraid of what might happen when he fired the weapon in his hand. 

After both shots had been fired, Q put down the gun, checking to make sure it was unloaded, and they both removed the protectors from the ears. Bond smiled gently at the Quartermaster. “I’m sorry, Q, but this simply cannot be tolerated. You need to learn how to fire a gun without looking like you expect it to turn around and bite you. Your shoulders are up around your ears. It’s really not that difficult. Here, let me help you.” Stepping closer, he reached around Q to pick up the Walther in his right hand and used his left to lift Q’s own right hand to meet his, transferring the gun into the other man’s hold and lifting it to aim down the lane. “Now, your grip is good, so we don’t need to worry about that.” Bond brought his left arm around the Quartermaster’s to grasp Q’s left wrist, a move which naturally brought him to stand close. Moving more directly behind Q, he brought up Q’s left hand to meet his right, stretched out in front and solidifying their mutual grasp on the gun. He was now a hair’s breadth away from being pressed up against Q’s back, only uncertainty over his welcome, along with the desire not to end this too quickly kept him from pushing forwards. Q hadn’t made any move yet, simply allowing Bond to move him as he wished. Bond’s gaze was momentarily transfixed by the nape of Q’s neck, where the dark curls of his hair met the collar of his shirt.

“Ok. So, as I said, your grip is good.” Bond let go of Q’s hands and ran his hands along the length of Q’s arms to rest on his shoulders, shifting slightly away as he did so. “Keep your aim up,” he whispered over Q’s right shoulder, as Q’s hands began to drop.

“I want you to drop your shoulders, you’re very tense.” Bond made gentle circular movements with his thumbs on the back of Q’s shoulders and he applied a gentle pressure to encourage the other man to let go of the tension in his neck and across the top of his back. Feeling some of the tension seep away, Bond stopped the movement. Leaning forwards, he whispered into Q’s ear, “There. Better?” 

All of a sudden, Q lowered his aim, dropping the gun on the table, and all the progress Bond had made to relax him was gone as he turned on the spot to face Bond. Unwilling to give up ground so hard won, Bond dropped his hands to his sides, but didn’t move back and they found themselves toe to toe. Q was breathing hard and seemed almost hypnotised as he stared directly into Bond’s eyes. _This is it_ , Bond thought, needing Q to be the one to close those final inches. He risked a glance down as Q licked his lips before returning his gaze upwards. “Q?” he said, almost under his breath.

“I…” Q stumbled over whatever he was about to say. “I need to…” Then as if a switch had been flipped, Bond could see awareness flood back into Q’s eyes. “Oh God. I need to go.”

Pulling away from whatever had held them in proximity, Q ducked off to the side where he had left his folders, gathering them in his arms. “I’m so sorry, 007. This was… I didn’t mean…” He stopped himself and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I’ll send somebody from the team you’ll be working with down immediately to finish up here.”

Before Bond had an opportunity to reply, he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him and leaving the agent alone with his new weapon. 

***

Q went directly through TSS, passing his workstation out in the open plan area, ignoring anyone and everyone who might be trying to get his attention, only stopping to instruct the first member of the team for _Orion_ that they should head to the range and check 007 had everything he needed. He then went straight into the little used office he maintained as head of department for those meetings that simply had to be taken behind closed doors. Collapsing into the chair behind the desk, he lifted his hands to cover his face and finally allowed himself to breathe freely. He hadn’t been so embarrassed in years. He was mortified. He had almost kissed Bond. On the firing range. Where anybody could have walked in. His self-control had been in tatters, clinging by the merest thread. The initial contact had been bad enough, Bond had practically caressed his spine while merely handing him some ear protectors. And from the moment Bond had stepped in and taken him by the hand to begin to correct his stance, Q hadn’t known whether to participate or just allow Bond free rein, scared that the moment would end, yet equally terrified of what might happen. The man was dangerous, especially when one had been having inappropriate dreams about him.

Q needed to think this through. Bond was obviously interested. That had not been the behaviour of someone that was simply a colleague. The trouble was, what did he want? Until yesterday, Bond had merely been another agent on his radar. Admittedly a particularly troublesome one who had the ability to seduce whichever member of staff he so chose at whim, but now…

It had been rather fun, the memory of Bond’s breath on the back of his neck sent a shiver down his spine even now, but Q hated the sensation of not being in control.

An email alert brought him out of his thoughts. Scanning it on his phone, Q relaxed somewhat. Bond was fully equipped and had left for the airport on route to Cartegena. He would be out of the country for at least two weeks, depending on how the mission went. Plenty of time for Q to make a decision about how he wanted things to progress. In matters such as this, he was not willing to cede control over his actions, particularly to one so sure of himself as Bond.


	3. Chapter 3

Overall _Orion_ had been a success. Q’s Delta team had been able to handle it on their own 90% of the time, and given it was their first time working together as a unit, that wasn’t too bad. The other 10% had required Q to step in and assist Bond with a couple of particularly tricky situations involving breaking through the security on the laptops controlling access to areas Bond had to reach, and Q was quite happy that he’d handled those interactions completely professionally, if a little less vivaciously than was his normal style. Thankfully Bond had been too distracted staying out of peril to pass comment on the lack of sarcasm emanating through his earpiece.

The agent was due to fly back in couple of days, just under three weeks since his departure. In the intervening time, Q had made a few decisions regarding 007 by which he was determined to stand. Firstly, he had to apologise for being so rude as to, essentially, run out on him at their last meeting. He had neglected his duties, failing to fully equip an agent for an upcoming mission. In Q’s mind, this was paramount, no matter the circumstances. Secondly, as much as he had been tempted, any further interaction between him and Bond needed to be purely professional from this point forwards. A few lingering dreams on Q’s part, and a consequent lack of sleep, were his problem... _wrists held down by strong hands..._ Bond knew nothing about them… _stretching up onto his toes, arching his back to reach the body above his…_ and so all that was needed was for Q to maintain his composure… _lips hovering tauntingly above his, dropping whispered kisses…_ apologise… _blue eyes holding his gaze so he was unable to look away..._ and let Bond know that it wouldn’t happen again. 

It was simple, really. 

***

As he walked through the corridors of MI:6, Bond couldn’t help but be glad to be home again. He had changed into the suit he kept in his locker, knowing how well it fit him. Not that he didn’t also look good in the cargos and t-shirt he’d been wearing on arrival, but they did rather need washing after his journey back. A quick shave, not as close as he would like, but you couldn’t have everything, and he was ready to get on with his duties, hoping he didn’t look as tired as he felt.

Three weeks was a long mission by anybody’s standards, particularly when that time was not to be spent in the sort of hotel where one could expect the finest service and instead sleep had to be snatched whenever the opportunity arose, whether a bed was to be found or not. He just had to get through the debriefing with Delta team who had run the mission for him and then he would be free for the rest of the day, before coming in tomorrow for a routine post-mission physical. And of course, he was anticipating picking up with Q where they’d left off. Idly, Bond wondered what type of restaurant Q would like to go to for dinner. Italian seemed a little pedestrian. Perhaps Indian or Thai?

Checking his phone to make sure he had the correct venue, Bond paused outside the door to the meeting room to straighten his jacket and tie - appearances mattered, no matter how weary one was after three weeks away - before opening the door and walking in. Around the table were the four members of Delta team who had worked in pairs with him, taking shifts to give him ‘round the clock assistance. And there was a fifth person in the room, one who shouldn’t have been there unless something was wrong: Q was sat on the opposite side of the table from the door, head down, hair every which way, looking at his tablet. His Scrabble mug was on the table in front of him, he was dressed in his usual shirt, tie and cardigan. Despite wondering what had brought him to a regulation debrief, Bond thought he looked quite delectable, if a little tired. 

Bond was the first to speak, as he let the door swing shut behind him. “Ah, the good team Delta. It’s a pleasure to see you all in person.”

Q looked up at the sound of Bond’s voice, revealing more pronounced bags under his eyes than when Bond had last seen him, making the agent frown, but it was Andrew, the Delta team lead, who took point. “007. Well, we weren’t expecting you for at least another ten minutes. This is positively punctual of you.” Andrew had been the one to come down to the firing range after Q’s sudden departure. He obviously took his cue from his boss when it came to fashion, or perhaps it was simply the style for the type of recruit TSS attracted: messy hair, dark-framed glasses, cardigan paired with shirt and tie, no jacket. He wasn’t unattractive, but to Bond he seemed like the sort of lesser model car you bought because you couldn’t quite afford the real thing.

“I saw no reason to delay matters. After all, the sooner this is done, the sooner I can move on to more… relaxing ventures.” Bond looked directly at Q as he said this, hoping to catch his eye but the Quartermaster had looked back down at his tablet as soon as Andrew had begun to speak and was resolute in paying attention to whatever occupied him.

Noticing Bond’s focus was not entirely on him, Andrew gave a discreet cough before continuing. “Right then, shall we begin by going through your movements immediately after arrival in Cartegena?”

Bond switched into auto-pilot mode. He’d been through countless debriefs before, reviewing his actions, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s to make sure every base was covered, and everything documented in triplicate, so that the higher-ups could feel satisfied with how things went. They were as boring as hell, normally. This one was slightly out of the ordinary. Normally, the Quartermaster would be nowhere to be seen _unless_ he had directly run the mission. Normally, if the Quartermaster _was_ in attendance, he would be paying attention. This time however, nothing seemed to be able to distract Q, though Bond was sure he was listening. He thought he’d seen Q twitch at a couple of particularly provocative answers. Hoping to provoke Q into responding, Bond answered the next question truthfully though leaving some vital information out.

“Well, at this point I was, to all intents and purposes, cornered. So I had to submerge myself in a water barrel in the corner of the warehouse in order to hide.”

Bond got the reaction he wanted when Q looked up and jumped into the conversation with alarm in his voice. “Water? 007, tell me you didn’t also submerge your new Walther and our very expensive electronics. I know we sent you out with back-ups but they’re not there so that you can destroy your primaries.”

Smiling at Q with amusement, and speaking directly to him in answer to the question posed, Bond replied, “Q, so you are listening. And no, don’t worry, I stashed both my gun and electronics on a nearby shelf for the few minutes concerned. Andrew can confirm the five minute radio silence that occurred. Naturally, I continued with my objective once the danger had passed, if a little wetter than before.”

Bond was expecting a retort to this, putting him in his place and telling him to include all the details in his initial report - Q had never held back before, and was known for his fearsome response to even the suggestion of damage to ‘his’ equipment - so Bond was surprised when Q suppressed whatever response was bubbling up. He visibly swallowed and reached for his mug, which had the unfortunate effect of hiding his face from Bond. Was that a blush rising on his neck? Q took his time taking a drink, while Bond watched, composing himself from whatever had affected him, subsequently returning to his tablet and waving a hand at Andrew, “Please, continue.”

Disappointed that Q seemed to be veering away from those enjoyable verbal interactions they had previously had such fun with, Bond’s mind replayed once more the events of the firing range three weeks ago. He was sure that Q had been about to kiss him; there had been obvious interest in his eyes, but his brain had kicked into gear before what had seemed inevitable had happened. Bond suspected he needed to keep Q’s mind distracted long enough to encourage him to fully commit before he realised what he was doing. As soon as Q’s neurons had fired, he had removed himself from the scenario as quickly as possible. Bond needed to get Q alone, judging by Q’s reactions during this meeting he had come to his own conclusions about the near-kiss at the firing range and it was quite probably that they didn’t align with Bond’s plans. If Q had decided that it was a mistake, Bond was going to have to convince him otherwise at the earliest opportunity. 

Cutting into Bond’s thoughts, Andrew’s voice caught his ear. “Ok, I think that’ll do us. There were a few near-misses that give us something to work on, but as a first mission for our team, I’m pleased with the work. Thanks all. Q? Anything to add?”

“No. I’m quite happy with your progress as a team. We’ll go over your next assignment later. Thanks everyone.” Q rose from his seat and walked quickly around the backs of everyone’s chairs while he was talking. Bond realised that he was about to miss his opportunity and stood as Q was approaching the door. 

“007.” Q seemed to hesitate as he approached Bond. “Glad you’re back. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go.” It was the exact same phrase he’d used at the firing range, and Q seemed to realise it at the same moment as Bond. His mouth dropped open as if to say more, some greater emotion flashing through his eyes before looking away, biting his lip as he turned for the door and departed before Bond could say anything.

Thwarted again, Bond clenched his fist in frustration. He obviously needed a new plan of attack. Catching the Quartermaster unawares was going to be a problem if he had set his mind on avoidance as the best course of action. Bond would allow him today, but after his physical tomorrow, things were going to get serious. 

***

It had been anger that Bond had seen pass across Q’s eyes in the moment before he left. Not anger at Bond, but at himself for being a coward and for letting this whole near-affair affect his work. _Nothing_ was allowed to affect his work. He had only gone to that meeting in order to speak to the agent and clear the air, and then as soon as he’d seen the man all the heated feelings and memories he’d battled down over the past weeks had come flooding back. It was all he could do to keep himself from staring and drinking his fill, and he was grateful that he’d brought his tablet with him so that he had something else to focus on rather than give the game completely away. Seeing Bond again after an absence of three weeks had been like reaching an oasis in a desert. Those three weeks had been filled with dreams and memories that he’d been denying himself from indulging in and it turned out that the reality was even better. The man filled out a suit in a way that should be illegal.

Arriving back in TSS, Q once again retreated to his office. He’d gone from barely using the place to making it his sanctuary in the past three weeks. There had been many occasions where he had simply wanted the peace and quiet offered by a closed door, needing to gather his thoughts after someone had made a passing comment about Bond, his reputation and just what they would like to do with him (or occasionally, what they _had_ done with him). Every time the subject came up - and Q had never before been so aware of how often the Double O agent was discussed in his department - Q felt the unfamiliar sensation of jealousy rising in him. Despite having firmly decided that he wouldn’t have anything to do with the man, he still trembled at memory of how Bond’s hand had drifted over his spine, and the whisper of his voice in his ear. 

Q’s traitorous mind drifted back to the image of a very wet Bond that had almost caused him to say something totally inappropriate during their recent encounter. He hadn’t been able to resist checking with the agent when he’d suggested he might have casually drowned his electronic equipment - no matter how distracted he was, Q’s mind wasn’t about to let such disregard go unnoticed - but his train of thought had been utterly derailed once Bond casually mentioned continuing on after his soaking. Q’s normal follow-up sarcasm had been lost in a whirl of images involving clinging t-shirts and licking up stray droplets that were running across tanned skin. He’d felt the blush rising up his neck and had to take a large mouthful of rather unpleasant, cold tea to cover his reaction. After that, all he’d wanted to do was get out of there. This was very bad. He’d now wasted an entire morning, having done nothing useful in that meeting except read emails and daydream about Bond, and he’d not even spoken to the man in question as he’d intended.

Something had to be done. He was practical, all he had to do was meet Bond in a place where they could talk without being interrupted, and be very clear that, while he was aware that Bond had obviously expressed interest in exploring this attraction they both appeared to feel, he thought it best that they simply keep things on a professional level. Obviously, meeting at work ran the risk of interruptions, but Q knew that Bond would have gone home for the rest of the day before coming in again tomorrow. Post-mission procedure was the same for all newly returned agents. That knowledged spurred Q into decision. He would make a detour via Bond’s flat after work today and lay things on the table. By tomorrow, everything would be resolved. Happy with his decision, Q finally turned to his computer and switched his mind over to the latest crytographic analysis reports.


	4. Chapter 4

There was nothing so pleasant as the first glass of a good Scotch after a mission, except perhaps the second glass, Bond thought to himself as he poured himself two fingers of 12 year-old Old Pulteney that evening. Savouring the aroma, he took a sip while walking through to his living room and settling on his sofa. He’d finally made it home an hour ago, having been caught up in various post-mission meetings for the rest of the day. M had called him in unexpectedly after Eve had let slip that he was in the building, and he hadn’t managed to escape until gone 5pm, straight out into London rush hour traffic which had caused a fifteen minute drive to last three quarters of an hour and delaying his arrival home until approximately three hours later than he’d originally wanted it to be. Still, better late than never.

Now he was here, with a drink in his hand, and could finally turn his mind to the prickly problem of how best to his experiment with Q. And it was still an experiment. Bond was having to approach things completely differently to how he would normally handle such a liaison, purely due to the fact that he’d never before begun something _prior_ to being sent away on a three week mission. His normal tactic was to keep things strictly between missions, and having to leave things hanging was not ideal. It would appear that the separation had given Q the opportunity to _think_. After this morning, Bond realised that this was obviously a bad thing. It would have been much better to have left things as more a a promise for the future at the firing range, rather than the deliberate temptation he’d prompted by touching Q at all. It had been a mistake on his part, and if it backfired on him, the opportunity with Q would be lost. Things were in the balance as they were anyway. He _really_ had to talk with him tomorrow.

Bond had hoped that Q would be eager to see him after his absence, willing to pick things up where they’d left off, not the avoidance that he’d encountered during this morning’s debriefing. Well, he had accidentally-on-purpose failed to return his gun to TSS today, giving him the perfect excuse to drop by tomorrow and speak to Q. He could report on the modifications to the weapon and apologise for the late return, and then finally make that dinner invitation. Indian, definitely Indian. They could get a thali. Sharing food was always an excellent way to break down boundaries. 

As Bond speculated on which of his favourite Indian restaurants might be able to fit him in on short notice, he was jolted out of his thoughts by his door buzzer going off. Not expecting any guests, he immediately went on alert, mentally running through the weapons in the flat and whether all outside doors and windows were secure. He couldn’t think of any enemies that were both currently in London and had any outstanding bones to pick with him, but someone may have decided to dig up some old dirt. As he reached the video intercom by his front door, showing him who was waiting outside, he decided that the Gods must be smiling down on him. It was Q, looking decidedly nervous. Rather than bother speaking to him, Bond simply pressed the button to unlock the outside door, assuming Q could make his own way up, and unlatched the door, waiting for the lift to arrive. 

***

 _Screw your courage to the sticking place._ The line from _Macbeth_ ran through Q’s head as the lift took him up to the fifth floor. He wasn’t one for theatre, but anyone who had been through school in Britain had, at some point, studied Shakespeare and some of it was bound to stick. He ran through things once more in his head. No drinks, no food, no sitting. He would be honest and upfront. Muttering to himself, he went through his speech: ‘Bond, I’d like to apologise for what happened at the firing range. It won’t happen again. While I’m flattered by your interest, I don’t feel it would be appropriate to take things further. I hope we can continue to work together without any fallout from this small aberration on my part.’

As the lift came to a stop and the doors opened, Q walked out to find Bond waiting, his door open, leaning casually against the frame wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved black top with buttons open at the collar to reveal the beginnings of his chest. “007,” Q automatically said as a greeting.

“Q. I think you might call me James. We aren’t in the office, after all.”

Q stood where he was, not yet taking those final steps to take him into Bond’s territory. He took a full breath, filling his lungs and held the agent’s gaze. “James.”

“Come in, please.” Bond smiled as he stepped back to hold the door, gesturing for Q to enter. 

Q found himself obeying without a second thought. This was what he was here for, he told himself. They couldn’t exactly have this conversation out in the hallway. 

“Can I take your coat? Get you something to drink?” Q could hear the curiosity in Bond’s voice as he asked the questions that any host would upon receiving a guest into their home. Comfortable with the societal niceties at least, Q was able to relax a fraction.

“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I’m just on my way home from work.”

“Alright. Well, come through to the living room. Have you come to collect your gun? I do fully intend to return it, and in one piece, things just got away from me today.” Bond walked through the hall and turned left into the first room as he spoke, raising his voice as he got further away. Q followed, interested to see the place that Bond called home. The hall was nothing less than bland. Magnolia walls, with one or two pictures that looked to have been chosen by an interior decorator rather than reflecting Bond’s own taste. A hall table, with a glass bowl that had probably come from some far off place and had cost a small fortune, here reduced to holding keys and loose change. 

The living room was not much different. The magnolia decoration continued, but here and there were signs of the occupant, mostly in the luxury of the furnishings. The sofa was massive, taking up a large portion of the floorspace, with deep seats, covered in dark red upholstery and cushions. In front of it was a stained oak coffee table on top of a deep pile rug, and then a large fireplace surrounded by a substantial wooden mantelpiece. Various other items of furniture were placed around the room, which opened out into a dining area to the right, where a sideboard held at least five bottles of whisky, along with crystal decanters and tumblers. 

Bond had gone straight to the coffee table where he had picked up a glass already filled with whisky and was taking a sip while he waited for Q to enter the room. “Are you sure I can’t get you something?”

Q grasped the strap of his bag with his right hand, bring his arm up across his chest in a nervous gesture. “No, like I said, I can’t stay long. I have to get home to…” he trailed off, realising he didn’t really have anything he desperately needed to do, his imagination for once not supplying him with a ready excuse.

“Wash your hair?” Bond smirked as he teased.

Q gave an uneasy smile, recognising the joke but unable to bring himself to laugh. The prospect of having to actually talk about _feelings_ was creating a nauseating sensation and it was taking everything he had not to obey his instinct to just get out of there. He felt himself almost swaying on his feet as he heard the call of the exit. Bond was watching him carefully as if he was trying to anticipate what Q was going to say next. 

“Q?” Bond prompted, inviting him to say something, anything. Q realised it had been near a minute of silence, and he’d been simply stood there. Taking a deep breath, and picking a spot on the wall opposite to focus on, he began speaking. 

“007. Er, James. Look, I came here tonight because I wanted to… That is, I didn’t want to get into this at work because it’s so difficult to find the time there, and I wanted to do this properly. The thing is, I think I owe you an apology. For what happened. Before. At the firing range. It was... I was... Well, I’ve had time to think about it during the past three weeks. Thought about little else, if I’m honest, and it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

Q stopped talking and looked away from the wall to find that Bond had moved back around the sofa to approach him, still holding his whisky. Tipping back the glass, he downed the remaining golden liquid, putting the glass down onto a side table to the left of the door. 

Bond lifted an eyebrow, “Just so we’re clear. You’re apologising. To me. For what happened at the firing range?” 

The agent was getting closer, Q didn’t know whether to hold his ground or back off. “Yes?” he replied, hating the way it came out as a question. Bond took another step forwards, almost crowding into Q’s personal space. Q’s hand tightened on the strap of his bag, unable to tear his eyes away from where his gaze had landed on Bond’s top lip. He wished that he’d taken his coat off when given the opportunity, feeling suddenly overly warm thanks to the proximity of the other man.

“Would that apology be for the part where you almost kissed me? Or for the part where you left without kissing me? Because of the two, I’d much rather you apologised for the latter. I rather enjoyed the former.” Bond reached up and gently lifted Q’s bag from his left shoulder. Q let him move it away from his body to the side, letting his grip go and dropping his hand down, and risking a glance upwards to catch Bond’s eyes. Once there, he was unable to look away.

“I, er, I don’t recall.” Q managed to get out in response, trying to remember exactly what Bond had been asking him, his mind having gone blank the moment the agent had approached him. It simply wasn’t fair. The man was a bloody near professional at this, how was he, a scientist, supposed to be expected to maintain focus when Bond was looking at him like that, his knowing gaze filled with suggestion?

“In fact,” Bond continued, his voice dropping to what could only be described as an intimate volume, “I think you rather enjoyed it too. Why don’t we continue where we left off?” Bond was now mere inches away, Q could feel his breath on his lips as he spoke.

Q closed his eyes, expecting Bond to move those last scant inches and bring their lips together, but the touch never came. The bastard was going to make him do it. Emboldened by the _frisson_ of anger provoked by this, knowing exactly what Bond was doing, Q opened his lids and fixed his gaze on Bond’s, narrowing his eyes. “I want to be clear about this. This is a one time thing.” He brought his hands up to rest against Bond’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath his palms, curling his fingers into the fabric of Bond’s shirt. “I just need to get this out of my system.”

“Whatever you say,” was all he heard in reply before he moved his hands up to Bond’s neck and pulled the agent’s mouth down to his.

***

Q was warm and safe, cocooned beneath a duvet, on a soft mattress, slowly waking from the best night’s sleep he’d had in weeks. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages, the muscles of his body more fluid than they had felt in a good long while and he had slept straight through the night. He was fairly sure he’d not had any dreams, though as his mind awoke, vivid images of another body close to his, skin to skin, swept away the remaining haze. He became aware of a warm arm around his waist, a nose nestled against the back of his neck, legs tangled with his own. Bond. 

Opening his eyes, Q savoured the sensations of closeness for a moment longer, knowing he had to give it up. The room was dimly lit, daylight spilling around the edges of the blinds covering the windows. If it was light outside, it was past time he was up and on his way to work. Already the niggling demand for caffeine was beginning to make itself known. 

Gently taking hold of Bond’s wrist, Q lifted the arm from around his waist and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. “Q?” Bond murmured, still half asleep.

“Shh. Go to sleep. I have to go to work.” Q replied, wanting the agent to remain where he was, not wishing to disturb the peace that lay over the room by instigating a conversation. He stood and began collecting his clothes from the floor, taking them with him as he left the bedroom and went into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he turned on the light and began to dress, keeping his focus on remaining calm and getting out the door and on his way to work before he began to think about what had happened. Washing his mouth out with water - teeth brushing would have to wait - he ran his hands through his hair, nothing to be done about that right now, and returned to the bedroom, collecting his watch from the carpet and picking up his shoes and socks. Bond seemed to be asleep once again, but Q was sure that he was only lightly dozing. Taking a moment to record the sight before he left, he made sure to memorise the way the duvet lay over Bond, keeping the sight decent but with enough skin on display to tempt him to stay. Bond had kicked the covers round to free his feet and keep them cool, as well as leaving the top half of his body to the air as well. Lying on his front, his arms were raised and wrapped around the pillow on which he lay his head, providing Q with a marvellous view of the muscles across his shoulders and upper arms.

Filled with regret about having to leave, Q left the bedroom and paused in the hallway to put on his shoes, stuffing the socks into his pocket for now. His bag and coat were in the living room and after collecting them he slipped out the front door and made his way downstairs via the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift. 

***

Bond took his time waking up. He was under no particular orders to show up for a specified time, merely had to to report for a physical as soon as he reached the office. Wanting to take particular care over his appearance, he took a long shower, enjoying the memories of what had been one of the better nights in his recent memory, then put on a midnight blue suit, light blue shirt, and matching tie. The suit was tailored to fit him perfectly and he knew it was one of those suits, having been firmly informed by Eve last time he wore it to the office that he should adopt that particular look more often. 

It was half past ten by the time he passed through the security entrance of MI:6. Aware that his arrival would be flagged and he was due to report for his test, he made his way directly to TSS, not wanting to risk being accosted by any of the assessment minions as he walked through the building. Thankfully Q’s department was in the opposite direction to the gym and training rooms, so it was unlikely he’d be captured before he went willingly. 

A quick scan of the area upon his arrival into TSS showed no sign of the Quartermaster but a few people he’d spoken to since arriving back had mentioned how Q had been making more use of his private office recently, so Bond wasn’t overly surprised not to see the man out in the open. Not wanting to appear over-eager, he strolled casually through the department, greeting a few people he was acquainted with, stopping to chat with some he knew better, laying the groundwork to indicate he was merely returning his gun post-mission. He wasn’t yet sure how public Q wanted to make their involvement and didn’t want to make a wrong move having finally got the man into bed. He still wanted to take him out for that dinner they’d not yet had, even if they’d already skipped to the afterparty.

The corridor at the back of the department, leading to the offices was quiet. Bond walked down and stopped just before the frosted glass that barred the way to Q’s sanctuary. Dusting down his - already pristine - suit, he knocked smartly on the door, waiting for the call of “Come in” before stepping into the office, turning to close - and lock - the door behind him.

Q was sat behind his desk, laptop in front of him, wired up to the monitors sat on the desktop. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn yesterday, unlike Bond he obviously didn’t keep a spare outfit at work. His hair was a mess, it looked as if he’d been running his fingers through it constantly, though whether this was caused by work or something else, Bond couldn’t detect. He looked up as he heard the lock click and, to Bond’s surprise, was the first to speak. “James. I hadn’t realised you had arrived.” His face betrayed no reaction, Bond was disappointed to see. He was hoping that a little of Q’s self-control might have softened, at least when the two of them were alone. Being addressed by his first name was the only indicator that anything had changed between them. 

“Q. How are you? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see you out properly this morning.”

A small smile appeared on Q’s face, obviously recalling some memory about the morning that Bond wasn’t privy to. “That’s ok. We can’t all be gentlemen of leisure. Some of us have departments to run. Can I help you with something?” Bond felt a note of concern at the tone of Q’s voice, coolly familiar, lacking the warmth he’d eventually teased out of him during the night before, but rather than let it go he decided to confront the issue head on.

“Q, you sound positively disappointed to see me. I was hoping you’d join me for lunch.”

Shaking his head, Q gestured towards his laptop. “I’m sorry, I can’t. We’ve had some urgent intel from Morocco and I need to make sure it gets where it needs to go before the end of the day.” 

Not one to be deterred by an initial rebuff, Bond finally got to ask the question he’d been wanting to ask since that first phone call had sparked this whole thing off. “Well then, dinner. I did promise you, after all.”

Q bit his lip, looking quite uncomfortable as he did so. “James. I meant what I said last night. It really was a one time thing. I don’t want to have everyone around here think of me as just another notch on your belt, which will happen if we continue our association.” He made a vague gesture between the two of them as he said this. “I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise to you, I had hoped you would realise that I was sincere yesterday but perhaps I should have reiterated myself. Either way, I’m doing so now. I had fun, I won’t pretend otherwise, but this—” again he gestured, “—can’t continue. I suggest you find someone else to occupy your downtime between missions. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble.”

After finishing this speech, Q held Bond’s gaze, seemingly calmly, though Bond noticed how tightly he was gripping his pen in his right hand. Not quite understanding - or agreeing - with Q’s reasons, Bond could, however, tell when someone was letting him down gently, or at least trying to. He had been on the other end of such a conversation often enough. Never one to lose his dignity in such scenarios, he replied, “Oh. Well, I’m sorry that I misinterpreted your wishes, and that you feel that way. I’ll leave you to your work.”

Back straight, he turned to unlock the door, and left, unaware of Q dropping his head to the desk before the door had even closed behind him.

***  
It took him a couple of minutes, but Q was eventually able to lift his head from where had landed on the desktop. He’d done it, made his point and managed to keep himself calm throughout. If Bond had protested, he wasn’t sure what the outcome would have been. A thrill had run through his body when the agent had stepped into the office, as if remembering the night before, and anticipating it happening again, and if James had shown any inclination for a repeat performance, he doubted he could have stood up to him. But instead, he had been able to say what he needed to and hopefully Bond would now turn his attentions elsewhere, allowing Q to go back to focusing on work. He hadn’t gone round to see Bond last night with the intention of staying over, but he couldn’t regret it. Distance was the key now. He’d satisfied his curiosity and Bond had gained himself another conquest, they should both be content. He just had to stay away and let things go back to the way they were before.


	5. Chapter 5

_One month later…_

Bond felt wrecked. Not only had his latest mission gone to hell thanks to the incompetence of Delta team at the crucial moment—and he would be having a stern conversation about that in a short while—but, rather than being allowed his usual day of leniency, he’d been sent straight in to complete a physical assessment upon arrival back. Punishment for skipping the last one, which had slipped his mind following the conversation with Q. 

Q. Bond didn’t even want to think about the man. He’d never been quite so furious with someone for being quite so reasonable before. Ever since their sole night together a month ago, Q had treated him like some dull, uninteresting colleague that he had no interest in. Gone were the moments of dry wit and sarcasm that had fuelled their interactions before. Whenever Bond tried to provoke the man into some previously typical banter, all he received were blank looks and sincere comments. It was infuriating and almost, _almost,_ made him regret the whole endeavour. Perhaps things would have been better left the way they were, but he had never been one to leave well enough alone when opportunity presented itself.

Something was up though, he’d heard various reports from around the building that Q had been a devil to work for this month. His tolerance for errors, never great to begin with, had plummeted and more than one technical assistant had been scorched by his wrath. And from what he’d been told, there was one person in particular who had been suffering from Q’s sudden turn towards vindictiveness. Having been told by Q to go and find someone else to amuse himself with, Bond had done just that. And it so happened that his new team leader was perfectly placed to be called up to the crease. Andrew had been obviously surprised when Bond had invited him out for drinks, but pleased to be noticed, and perfectly willing to be Bond’s latest ‘conquest’. Unfortunately for him, Q had also noticed, and Andrew’s workload had, over the past month, gradually increased to the point where Bond had left standing instructions that nobody was to know about their plans for dinner beforehand, and that contact should only be made on personal phones outside of MI:6, _just in case_. Not that these measures had worked particularly well, but they had managed to grab some food and time together occasionally. 

One positive outcome of the whole debacle with his latest mission, on top of Q’s interference with him and Andrew, was that it meant Bond had finally made a choice that had, if he were truthful, been at the back of his mind for a couple of weeks. Obviously his time with Andrew was due its natural end. The only reason he hadn’t put a stop to things before he left was the lack of notice he received before he was rushed off to Heathrow, but, given how disastrously Delta team had handled things over the past three days, Andrew couldn’t be expecting Bond to return and carry on as they had been. At times Bond had been close to calling things off with the man over comms, and it was only his own sense of dignity that had prevented him from doing so.

He called to mind his initial impression of Andrew at their first post-mission debriefing, of how much he reminded him of Q, only _less_. He didn’t want to waste time with the lesser model anymore. He wanted the real thing. Q was fascinating and different and... one night hadn’t been enough. Bond wanted more. And if it meant trying something new in order to have it, he was willing to at least attempt to change. Q had said he didn’t want to be another ‘notch on Bond’s belt’, and so he wouldn’t be. As far as he could, Bond was willing to commit. Whatever that entailed when one regularly risked life and limb for one’s country. The question was, how best to go about bringing Q to the point where he would be willing to admit that he hadn’t got Bond out of his system after all.

***

In his office, Q was wondering when this infernal obsession would pass. WIth one hand, he rubbed his eyes under his glasses, attempting to fend off the tension headache he felt threatening. It had been a month now, if you didn’t count the three weeks prior to that, and he still couldn’t get his mind away from one particular Double O agent. He had been in a horrible mood all month, short-tempered with his staff, fully aware of the looks he had been getting and yet unable to care. And then to make matters worse, Bond had taken up with yet another member of his team. Andrew. Yes, he had told Bond to find someone else to entertain him, but he hadn’t meant for the man to pick someone right under his nose. Q didn’t know what Bond saw in the man, although he was moderately intelligent, Q found him to be horrendously dull. He had enjoyed giving Andrew an incredibly awkward schedule over the past few weeks, confident that it would have appeared random enough so as not to set off any alarm bells.

A sudden burst of loud laughter interrupted his reverie, coming from the main TSS workspace. Glancing at the clock on his wall, Q frowned. It was approaching three o’clock, everyone should be back from lunch now and getting back to work, not sitting around joking with each other.

Not in the mood to tolerate his team mucking about while he was here in his office suffering from a headache, Q spun his chair away from his desk and covered the short distance to his door. Another burst of giggling erupted just as he opened the door. He walked down the corridor and around the corner only to be confronted with a sight he had seen before. Bond, perched on the side of a desk, bending down to Jess, whispering in her ear. She was the source of the giggles. At the sight of Bond, spending time so casually in his department, flirting with his staff, Q reached the end of his tether.

“007!” he called, voice cutting across the room. 

Bond looked up at his exclamation. Q couldn’t quite hear what it was he remarked to Jess, though he thought he saw his lips form the word “summoned”. The agent stood and patted Jess on the shoulder as he walked over. “Q. You needed me for something?”

Q wasn’t about to be intimidated by a smirk and a cocked eyebrow. “Yes. If you wouldn’t mind stepping into my office. I need your feedback on your team.”

“My pleasure.” Bond was already walking to the office as he spoke, brushing just that little bit too close to Q for it to be an accident and setting off Q’s nerve-endings as he passed.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Q turned to follow, unable to resist glancing down the agent’s body as he walked ahead of him. Bond was in a suit that was clearly designed to display the agent’s best assets to all and sundry, tailored down to the tightest centimetre as it was.

As soon as they entered the office, Q shut the door firmly behind him, keeping his back to the door, while Bond turned to face him. “So, Q. You want to know about Delta team? Well, I can tell you—”

Q interrupted him before he could begin going into detail, “Yes, I’m fully aware of the deficiencies of the latest mission and I _will_ need your feedback on that, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.”

Q’s face paled as Bond laid out the entire situation before he even had an opportunity to say anything. “Let me hazard a guess. You don’t want me spending time with members of your team any more. You, personally, don’t have any interest in me, _but_ don’t want anyone else to have me. And will take actions to ensure that nobody gets me.” Bond stopped speaking, giving Q an opportunity to deny his accusations, before continuing firmly. “I’m sorry Q, but you can’t have it all your own way.” 

“That’s not… It’s not that I don’t want… Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re free to do as you wish, I would just—” Q searched for the right word, “—prefer, if you would refrain from such encounters within my team so as to allow them to focus on their work. And I don’t know what you’re talking about by ‘take actions’.”

“Yes, you do.” Q would have described Bond’s smile almost as affectionate, if it weren’t an emotion he couldn’t imagine the agent having towards him right now. “You’ve been doing everything you can to make my life difficult…”

Q’s first instinct was to deny any responsibility, horrified that his ruse had been less covert than he’d thought. “I cannot be held responsible for the work that is allocated to—”

“Nonsense!” Bond dismissed Q’s protest without a thought. “You’re entirely responsible for the workload of your team. Admit it. You’ve been having fun messing up Andrew’s schedule simply to screw with me. And I know precisely why, I just wonder if you do.” Bond paused before he delivered his killer blow. “You still want me and you’re simply too stubborn to admit it.”

Q was too angry now to even bother denying it, responding petulantly to Bond’s accusation. “Fine. I want you then.”

Bond let out a shout of laughter. “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“I’m not. Right now, I don’t particularly like you.” Q stood his ground once again as Bond began to walk towards him, grateful for the solidity of the door against his back.

“You don’t need to like me…” Bond stopped a foot away from Q.

Q held his chin high as he delivered his terms, looking Bond directly in the eye, knowing that he had this one chance to get what he actually wanted out of this conversation. “I won’t be a pushover. I refuse to be another one of your conquests. I won’t ever just do you what you want. You are not the boss of me.” 

“I don’t want another conquest. Been there, done that.” Holding Q’s gaze, Bond shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “I would like to try something different.”

“Different?” Q’s natural curiosity crept into his voice and he had to mentally restrain himself from reaching out towards Bond with both hands as he dampened down on the hope that was bubbling to the surface.

“Yes. If you’re willing. I would like to try something more… adult. What some might even term a ‘relationship’. I’ve become disillusioned with the style of encounter I’ve been having recently. For some reason, my interest has lingered in one particular place,” Bond paused as if to make sure Q was listening to him, “and I can’t seem to shake it.”

Q couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. The infamous James Bond wanting to change. For him. Unable to stop it, he felt a grin breaking out across his face, and began to wonder why Bond was still so far away. He began to calculate the best method of getting Bond to close the gap between them involving the least amount of effort on his part, even while he replied, “I think that would be acceptable.”

Bond returned his grin, “I’m glad. You know, there’s been something I’ve been dying to ask you?”

“Oh?” Q suspected what was coming, but was distracted by reaching for Bond’s tie to pull him in towards him. He reached for the silk and tugged gently. Bond allowed himself to follow, taking the few steps needed to bring him tantalisingly close to Q, who tightened his grip on the tie - as if Bond might change his mind. Bond brought his head down, lips hovering over Q’s and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

As his lips brushed over Q’s for the first time in what felt like forever, Bond whispered, “How would you feel about dinner?”


End file.
